Kohl of the Glade and the Unexpected Happenings
by May a Chance
Summary: Kohl wasn't expecting to receive a letter by owl. He also wasn't expecting that his brother figure would be able to explain it. He wasn't expecting a rude girl. Nor was he expecting fighting a dragon four years later. Of all the things Kohl didn't expect, meeting his dead brethren was at the top of the list. T for violence.


****Disclaimer: I do not own these amazing franchises know as the Maze Runner and Harry Potter. All rights go to James Dashner, the author of the Maze Runner, J. K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series, and their publishing companies wh****om they**** probably sold the rights to. This story is written purely for my entertainment with nothing to do with profit or recognition. "I write what I want to write, I write what amuses me, it's totally for myself."- J.K. Rowling.****

****In this story, time lines are changed to fit my purposes. The Gladers are their original ages, but our oldest characters arrived when they were 10/11/12 with a group of 15/16/17 year olds from an original first group. This is my longest one-shot as of yet.****

****And let me make one thing clear. This will not be expanded or extended, ever. There will be no sequels, for I only write what _I_ want to write. There may be short, companion fics.****

* * *

On silent wings the owl flew through the air's dark warmth. His massive wings spread, scarcely moving in the dark.

Slowly, the owl circled lower, wings unfurled, spiraling in an elegant ark until he landed softly on the dirt packed ground. Hopping forward, the owl saw what he was looking for, a small human child curled on his side on soft grass not far away from the owl. The little human couldn't have been more than ten; he had very pale skin and a tiny stature with night-black hair that made him look like Death himself. The effect was ruined by the curled up position of the boy and the way that his dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks with a peaceful dream. The owl passed the letter in his beak down to his talons, hopping closer until he tucked the letter away beneath the boy's head, then circling off before he was caught delivering the letter. The owl settled on a lovely vine deep within the long corridors. It never saw the danger coming.

* * *

It was the light of dawn that woke the boy's who called the Glade home. The group had been a sea of sleeping bags that night, each one curled up next to another.

That morning woke a very special little boy, the youngest boy in the Glade, the boy they knew as Kohl, the boy who rarely spoke, the one who was the fastest Runner of them all. Turning over as he woke up, Kohl blinked his bright eyes open, showing the magnificent grass-green of his eyes. A quiet yawn escaped from Kohl's mouth as he stood, stretching before looking down to stare at the strange letter that sat right on his sleeping bag. Written in a bright green ink, similar to the boy's eyes, were the words 'To Mr. H. Potter, The Glade, Sleeping Bag#D13'. Confusion creased the smallest Gladers' face as he lifted the letter silently, gazing at it in amazement, for the boy could not ever remember having seen ink nor parchment in his living memory. Just like all the other Gladers, Kohl knew nothing of his past but his name, a name that whispered to them from the moment each Glader awoke in the Box. Each name was unique and meant its own thing. Kohl's represented his pitch black hair. There were hundreds of different names of Gladers and former Gladers, each representing a different trait of a different person.

"Newt," the boy called to the teen who was also just waking. "Take a look a'this." His voice was a clear voice, though rarely used, that always seemed to make him brighter. It was also an accented voice, heavily streaked with the same accent as the older teen possessed.

Newt looked over and nodded, yawning as he did so. "What the bloody is it, Kohl? I'm tired, mate."

"This," Kohl replied simply, passing the letter to Newt who stared at it blankly.

"Alby? Come take a look at this, mate! It's a letter..." Newt trailed off as he turned the letter over, gazing at the strange writing.

The second in command of the Glade made his way over, looking annoyed at the commotion that a letter was causing. "Who's H. Potter? We've got none who even have a last name and I think it's only Hank whose name starts with an H. Well, open it up, Newt."

Handling the letter back to Kohl, Newt grinned at the kid. When the youngest Glader shot him a strange look, Newt prompted the boy to open it. "Well, it is yours, mate."

Reluctantly, Kohl carefully tore the letter open in what as not a practiced motion. Out fell two pieces of parchment. Kohl gazed at them curiously before picking them up and flipping the first open. "HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY. Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)._

"Dear Mr. Potter, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress," Kohl read aloud, quoting the letter directly.

"What the shuck?" He asked, staring at it in confusion. "Is this some sort of bloody joke? 'Cause it makes no sense. None of us no what month it is any farther than Greenie month just like any other, we've never seen any owls-"

It was through the strangest occurrence that just then a Glader screamed "It's a shucking owl!" and Kohl had a moment of complete blankness, face going completely slack with deadpan humour.

Resting a hand around Kohl's shoulders, Newt grinned faintly. "Reminds me of the one I got all those years ago. I doubt the boys remember, but I'm gone for most of the year. It's the only way I can tell the seasons."

"Oh yeah," Alby said faintly. "You mentioned that."

Newt let out a soft, barking laugh. "I mentioned it? How can you not notice that I'm missing? Oh, right, the Professors implant the idea in your minds that I'm still there. I forgot 'bout that, mate." The tall blond boy turned to Kohl. "I'll explain everything to you soon, Kohl. You're not running today, you're taking a day off. I'm not running today, I'm taking a day off, as much as I don't like to."

* * *

"Speak, mate," Kohl stated simply, watching Newt who sat on a tree root not far away from the small, dark-haired Glader.

Newt laughed softly. "Okay, okay, shank. Ya'r letter is real. Hogwarts is a school for people for magical talent. You are Harry Potter in the magical world; I am Cedric Diggory. I'll be entering my third year at Hogwarts soon. Each year one of the Professors teleports or apparates over to pick me up to grab my school supplies. This year, they'll be grabbing you, too." Newt continued to explain the whole magical world to Kohl who just listened silently, nodding occasionally as the only sign that he was listening. The social structure, the past, everything.

It took Newt hours to explain the whole wizarding world. But one warning came through the entire thing. Do not trust Albus too-many-names Dumbledore no matter what.

Then the tall Glader got to the part about the war against Voldemort, a character that caused a shiver to pass through Kohl, something that caused Newt to pat the boy's back gently. Despite how they acted, all the Gladers truly cared for each other and would soothe them if they were scared or in pain. Of course, that didn't mean that they wouldn't punch each other (despite the rules) or prank the others, but they certainly cared. "Easy, mate, he's dead. Nothing to fear, shank."

"Stop patting my bloody shuckin' back. I'm not a dog, mate." Kohl honestly didn't mind since it made him feel safer in the strange and terrifying world he lived in.

Newt didn't stop, just laughed before mussing the boy's hair. "Oh, I forgot to mention, we're heading to the past, 'bout 600 years ago."

Kohl's jaw dropped.

* * *

Feeling twitchy, Kohl stayed close to Newt's side in the chaos of the train station. 'No, Cedric,' the small boy reminded himself. 'Not Newt. Cedric Diggory.'

"It's fine, mate, easy now, you've just never been around this many people before," Newt reassured Kohl softly. That time Kohl did not bother to scold himself about what name to use, deciding to just go with the nickname he knew Newt by. The kind words didn't stop Kohl from keeping pressed close to the third year's side. Newt wove through the crowds with ease, chattering with a few people whom he seemed to know, all of them taking note of Kohl but not asking, expecting that the young boy had a similar past to Newt's, kidnapped as a tiny child with little to know knowledge of his past. They simply accepted the black-haired first year pressed to their friend's side and watching nervously. A few greeted him gently to which Kohl nodded back silently, the faint dip of his head showing silent respect. Newt kept an eye on his small 'brother' (all the Gladers might as well have been brothers, but they would never know if they actually were. They often referred to themselves as the Brethren of the Glade) as they boarded the train.

On the train Newt refused to leave Kohl behind, reminding him of what was coming. Kohl was a brave kid, but when it came to an entirely different world 600 years before Kohl's own time (the time he had always lived in) was simply too much. Newt had felt the same way on his first journey, only the company of a few boys who were just as scared as he had kept the nerves at bay until he finally did relax fully.

"You remember what I told you, right?"

Kohl glanced at Newt nervously. "Y- yeah," he murmured, watching the scenery pass by in amazement.

Newt's friends, David Osborne, Rob Masseur and Myles Hall, were all curious. Rob kept silent and observed, seeming to understand that Kohl was scared klunkless. David was curious. He asked Kohl questions, urging the boy to speak to no avail, only Newt explaining that Kohl rarely spoke even before he had learned of this whole new world. Myles had drifted off to sleep.

"What's your name," David finally asked.

Kohl jumped out of his skin, causing Newt to laugh lightly. "Kohl," said boy spoke for the first time. "Or that's what I go by. It's actually Harry Potter."

The two awake third years stared at the tiny first year before them in stunned silence. Finally, Rob broke it. "Jeez, Cedric, we knew you had odd friends, but we didn't know you knew Harry Potter!"

Naturally, that comment caused Kohl to flinch slightly though he tried to remain brave.

"My name's Newt, despite what the Diggorys say," Newt grumbled softly.

David Osborne was a tall third year with brown hair that stood up all over his head and brown eyes. Rob Masseur was small and thin with crew-cut blond hair and icy blue eyes, while Myles Hall was a red-head with grey eyes that certainly didn't match his hair colour. He had awoken not long before. Newt reached out to slap each 'round the head. They just acted so silly some times! And really annoying in the mind of Kohl. He pressed into one of the corners of the compartment even farther as the door opened and a ferret stepped into the room.

"Oh," the boy drawled. "I don't suppose any of you have seen Harry Potter?"

Kohl gave him a blank look that was a perfect mimic of Newt. The three other third years simultaneously broke into a babble. "Yep," David said, "Nope," Rob said, "Maybe," Myles said. Then they exchanged awkward glances.

"What they mean," Newt covered easily, using his natural eloquence, "is that we probably have seen Harry Potter, but we wouldn't know if we had, hence yes, no and maybe. Perhaps we could ask who you are?"

The boy yawned, seeming bored. "I suppose I'll tell you. Name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." A glance was exchanged between the two Gladers, both looking unimpressed at the name that was very wizarding, very unlike Kohl's real name. Very unlike any of the other third years, a half blood and two muggleborns, respectively. So many purebloods had such strange names, Newt's real name being an exception to that and still a bit odd, too. Myles snickered.

"Is something funny? Well I don't suppose you co-"

"Well, Malfoy," David drawled, "you can leave now."

Malfoy sniffed 'daintily' before turning 'elegantly' and leaving the compartment.

The door then opened once again, this time a bushy haired girl. "Have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."

The boys in the compartment exchanged glances before shaking their heads and the girl huffed. Then she noticed the wand gripped in Newt's hand. "Are you doing magic? May I see?"

Kohl scowled darkly. "Pushy, aren't you."

The girl huffed once again. "I don't see what you have to do with anything," she said coldly, glaring at Kohl. "You would make a perfect Slytherin? What House will you be in?"

Kohl glared at her. "Not in your House, I'm sure."

Before the girl could bite back, Newt stepped in. "Whoa, Kohl, calm down; girl, leave. And next time, knock before entering." She huffed before whirling sassily, the door slamming after her.

"Damn, Kohl, you do not have a good batch of year mates."

Kohl 'hmmed' in agreement.

* * *

"Bones, Susan."

"Hufflepuff!"

And the Sorting continued on down the list, past B, E, J, M, and O before it began to come close to Kohl's name. It had been an uneven Sorting thus far, more students going into Ravenclaw and Slytherin than Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. After what felt like hours, the name that Kohl had been waiting for was called. "Potter, Harry," the deputy headmistress called into the Hall who had been waiting for the name.

Nervously, Kohl stepped forward from the group of first years, wishing desperately that the Sorting was a private matter, not the biggest event of the first months of school.

Sitting tidily upon the stool, Kohl looked like the picture of elegant fear. He sat silent and still, eyes forwards and not shifting.

_Hello, Mr. Potter,_ the hat breathed into his ears. _You will not be easy to Sort. Brave, if you weren't brave you would be dead by now, but that's out of necessity. Smart, you memorize this Maze almost every day. Loyal, definitely loyal; you refuse to leave your family. Cunning? You've never shown cunning as your first line. Perhaps second or third. You do not care for all of the politics of the snakes, only to protect those around you with the smartest choices. Now where to Sort you... The Gryffindor's would drive you insane... Too much talking; they would never let you rest, but you still deal with this Minho boy...Despicable child... You don't care for knowledge like the Ravenclaw's do... You would scare the poor Hufflepuff's witless. It is your choice, Mr. Potter. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw? I don't believe there is a perfect House for you, but I will direct you towards your friend Mr. Diggory._

Yet Kohl remained silent. He wanted to be placed where the hat thought he belonged. He believed in Fate, not Influence. It was Fate that he came to the Glade. Fate and Fate alone could send someone, a child at that, to the Glade.

_Be that way,_ the hat murmured. "Hufflepuff!" It screamed aloud and Kohl slipped the hat from his head and off the stool, silently making his way to the cheering table, settling into a seat next to Newt who patted his back warmly and ruffled his hair.

* * *

Four years later, Kohl cheered loudly as another student was Sorted into Hufflepuff. He was fourteen then, Newt sixteen, almost seventeen. Over half the Gladers he had known had disappeared. Nick, who had been one of the youngest boys, had been the latest disappearance at around eighteen. That had placed Alby in command with Newt as his second. Before Nick had been the Glader Thatch, before him Stein and even before that was Lee, and before that not one remaining Glader could even remember who had been leader.

Kohl drifted out of the world, sitting next to Newt who nudged him each time a new kid became the latest Hufflepuff so that he would cheer and applaud like everyone else. Soon the Sorting was over and Albus too-many-names Dumbledore began his announcements. That was what Kohl had been waiting for. Each and every single annoying Merlin-damn year, something bad happened to Kohl and he wanted hints as to what it would be that year. Perhaps a psychotic, man-eating magical tiger would invade the school, or the latest professor would turn out to be a Death Eater or some other dramatic sequence of events and terrible sequence of events.

"So! Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it. As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

Kohl's jaw dropped and a shout escaped from it "What?!" Newt was right next to him, yelling the same thing, despite having been nearly killed during quidditch the previous year. They were diehard quidditch lovers, both members of the team. Newt was the team's Captain for that year and the Keeper, rarely allowing for a shot to get past him. Kohl played Seeker, not missing a snitch save for one game when he'd been knocked from his broom my demented dementors.

All across the Hall, others were shouting just as the Gladers were.

Just then, the hall banged open. A small, nearly bald man entered, one eye bright blue and fake, the other dull brown and real. It was a creepy look to see.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

Whispers broke out among many students, leaving others confused as to who this Moody was.

"As I was saying, we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly. Fred was one of the few Weasleys that could be stood by the Hufflepuffs, almost more Slytherin than Gryffindor.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar. Er - but maybe this is not the time... no..." said Dumbledore the idiot, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities -until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Death toll?" A new first year asked nervously, his voice carrying down the table towards Newt and Kohl.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it," Myles hissed though his voice continued to continue down the table causing others to look at him and grin faintly.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he stated, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This" - Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hog-warts champion." His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen."

Anger seemed to be bubbling up from the younger students, most of the fifth and fourth years to glare at Dumbledore with hatred flaring in their eyes.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!" Dumbledore finished the long speech and waved his arms at the students who all stood and left the Great Hall.

"Are you going to enter, Newt?" Kohl asked as he followed his only friend down the single story to the Hufflepuff Common Room.

"I'm thinking about it, Kiddo, but I'm not sure yet. I mean, I will be old enough to enter by Halloween, but I'm not sure about the whole Task thing. I may be quick and strong in both magic and body, but I probably don't have it in me."

"I think you should."

Newt looked down and mussed Kohl's hair gently. Once he had started ruffling Kohl's hair, he simply hadn't stopped.

* * *

"Fleur Delacour of Beaubatons!"

"Viktor Krum of Durmstrang!"

"Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts!"

A roar of applause followed the final announcement as Newt grinned crazily and stood, leaving the Great Hall to the small room that the other Champions had left from. A flare of flames filled the Goblet of Fire blue once more and a fourth sheet of paper fluttered from it.

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore roared just as Kohl's heart sank. Slipping from his seat just as he had the day of his Sorting, Kohl made his silent way to the room that his honorary older brother had entered, brushing past the door and into the chamber within.

Newt was speaking softly with the Beauxbatons Champion Delacour.

The teachers rushed in after me. "Harry," Dumbledore says urgently, but I interrupt him.

"You will address me as 'Mr. Potter' as you are neither a guardian or personal friend of mine." Kohl glared at him as the Champions turn to look.

"Kohl?" Newt asked in confusion, probably only making most others even more confused as what name the boy went by. "Why are you here? What happened?"

Dumbledore glared at Kohl darkly. "Harry, did you enter your name in the Goblet of Fire?!"

"I will not be answering any questions until you address me properly." The thin jaw line of Kohl was set hard with stubbornness similar to Minho's own expressions. The fourth year's eyes flared with anger and annoyance as Dumbledore refused to back down, asking the same question, exactly the same, each time as Kohl drowned out Dumbledore. Finally, Bumblemore the idiot dumb as a door gave up, looking pleadingly at the Head of Houses behind him. Professor Sprout, Kohl's own Head and favourite professor, stepped forward to ask a similar question. The non-Hogwarts people looked confused at the use of two different names.

"Mr. Potter," she said sternly, using the formal address as just that, a formality, "can you please tell us if you entered your name or not?"

"Of course I didn't. I'd have to be an idiot to do that. I don't have the skill to succeed nor the ability to enter."

* * *

Oh, yay. Lucky Kohl, first he was entered in a stupid competition, then he had to compete, and now he had to fight a bloody dragon. Yay! Wouldn't that be fun.

No, it really wasn't. Kohl had been trained to fight Grievers, not dragons that probably shouldn't exist.

Not long after Halloween night Newt had pulled Kohl aside after class, wanting to discuss what had happened and wishing desperately that they could contact Alby and the other Gladers. Kohl owned an owl who had been a birthday gift from Hagrid the Groundskeeper, but the owl was just a companion, not a messenger. Newt had never had need for an owl, despite the fact that he had met his parents who had tried to spoil him extremely. Needless to say, Newt had been totally confused and refused everything they had offered, deciding that he would never end up living with Amos and Eilleen Diggory no matter what. They were simply too overbearing and protective for Newt to be able to survive. They had vied for Newts guardianship, but in court it was decided that anyone who could allow their one-year-old son to disappear from their house was not fit to be a parent, though they were allowed to keep guardianship of Newt's younger sister, Nasya, a girl going into her first year and trying to spend a lot of time with Newt, though he could hardly tolerate the pushy, honey blond girl.

"Kohl, what are you doing to do about the Tournament?" Newt had asked gently, knowing that the Tournament was a sensitive spot for the small Glader known as Kohl.

"Tha- I don't know," the small boy had whispered in response. "I know how to fight with swords, staffs, knives and I'm not bad with a wand, but that might not help me. Maybe I should just try to keep it low."

"Forgive my language, but that is BK*. You are going to go out there in that First Task and sow the world what you can do. When it comes to the battle field, you're even better than Minho or Alby. You've been laying low since I first met you and now you are going to go out there and show everyone what you can do and you are going to do that well. I have seen you pull your staff and fend of a Griever giving Minho and I a bit of time to escape. If not for you, the both of us would be dead. I know that the only thing aside from school supplies that you have bought is a special staff. You know, the one that is that special wood that's pretty much indestructible." Newt rested a hand on Kohl's shoulder, staring right into the Runner's eyes. "You will do your best."

* * *

"And now we have our fourth and youngest champion, Harry Potter!" The crowd was silent. Kohl could have sworn that he heard a cricket chirping. Despite that, he strode forth bravely, leaving the tent and his precious staff behind.

Even the crickets stopped chirping as the dragon, a large Hungarian Horntail hen protecting her nest from a boy who really did not want to harm either her nor her nest. If Kohl were to swallow his modesty for a moment, he would be able to say that he was quite good with animals, but he wasn't even sure if the ten ton beast before him even counted as an animal. Okay, not ten ton, Kohl was fairly sure that a elephant didn't way ten tons, but measured in at an impressive 7 tons with their massive tusks aimed right at your face.

Strangely enough, that was exactly how the ferocious and overly protective dragon looked, ready to charge with her flames bared. After whispering a quick "Oh Bark," he whispered a spell. "Accio staff."

It was still perfectly silent in the arena, no one able to hear what Kohl had to say but still waiting desperately to see him torn to pieces by a rabid Mother Hen Dragon. The few people who probably did not want small Kohl torn apart would be Rob Masseur, David Osborne, Ron Weasley (Kohl hated the shank who constantly followed him around as though Kohl were a god), Newt (of course) and Kohl's only friend of his age group in the school, Aelfdane Holm, a mysterious Hufflepuff with pointed ears and too-bright eyes.

The polished, dark staff slapped into Kohl's hands, having just flown over the crowds.

Only then did Kohl realize that the Horntail probably weighed three times as much as an elephant, possibly even more, maybe a little less.

Back to the point. Kohl's hands fit perfectly into the slightly worn grooves in the smooth wood. The staff was plain and simply, but it also had gifts. It was an extension of Kohl's body giving him a longer reach, not to mention it was magical, almost like a wand; the staff which Kohl had come to call Majiajn, or simply Mage. The wood was from a cedar tree with a core of powdered dragon scale from a Spanish Viper Dragon. Experimentally, Kohl tapped Mage against the stone ground softly. A slight spark of magic left the point and Kohl grinned for the first time that day. This was going to be interesting. The only question was how he was going to do it.

On silent steps, Kohl slowly approached the dragon which seemed to be unable to scent him, making no more noise that a kitten across grass. Kohl didn't know where he got his skills, but he had always been excellent in martial arts and stealth. Upon awaking in the Box, Kohl had been quick-footed and agile, climbing from the Box before Nick could have even reacted. Nick was the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed leader of the Glade who had been killed just a few months earlier by a sting that the Grief Serum didn't help with. It had been a day when many of the Gladers mourned their lost leader and friend. After climbing from the Box as a small ten-year-old, Kohl had panicked and run, showing instantly that he was quick sure-footed. And he had gone right for the doors and it wouldn't have been long until they closed for the night.

The only reason that Kohl was still alive to fight the dragon was that he had run right into Newt and Minho, the strongest running pair in the Glade. It had been a stroke of luck. Barreling through the Maze, Kohl had literally ran into Minho who grabbed his arm instantly and refused to allow him to go until Kohl had finally calmed with a little help from Newt who had taken Kohl's other arm and pressed him to the ground against one of the walls, explaining softly to the frightened Greenie. Newt had soothed Kohl and guided him through his first month at the Glade, then first two moths, three, until the letter had come in his fifth.

Another soft step forward landed on the ground and Kohl glanced nervously towards the dragon whose head whipped back and forth trying to pick up the scent. The crowds seemed to have the dragon confused, unable to pick up on the one scent that was actually after her. Three more silent steps forward drew Kohl even closer to the nest of eggs with a single golden one. Just a few more steps and Kohl would be within range of the magnificent and terribly dangerous beast that was an over protective mother dragon.

Kohl continued on with just a few steps that drew him even closer to the dragon. Kohl tapped his staff against the ground, chilling it slightly.

Then, he was moving faster, flying across the unstable stones, drawing ever closer to the nest, covering the ground quickly. He was a Runner. A Runner never stopped running, not until the day they died which was often all too soon.

Staff gripped in hand, Kohl leapt forth up the rocky wall around the nest, clearing it in a single leap and landing softly on the edge of the nest with the mother dragon right after him. Kohl tapped it against the ground once again, more violently this time, causing a spring of ice to shoot from the staff and rise up into the shape of a frozen dragon. Pressing the staff down harder, Kohl reinforced his icy figure before clambering gracefully into the nest and snatching the golden egg right from the center as the dragon roared in outrage, plowing through the icy dragon.

"Oh Bark," Kohl whispered again, something that would have been laughed at had it been heard.

The dragon was then upon him, blasting a ray of fire right at Kohl, leaving little time for him to respond, but Kohl wasn't ready to be burned alive. He raised his staff, held strong in two hands, pouring all of his energy into it, causing a faint, blue shield to glimmer between him and the dragon. Then Kohl was leaping away, scrambling across the uneven ground that was so different compared to the flat stone surface of the Maze where Kohl usually ran. He was almost there, so close, so, so close...

And then he was through the doors and leaving the ferocious monster behind.

Kohl finished the day with a score of 46, points having been taken off for how long he took.

* * *

If the First Task had been bad, then Kohl wasn't sure what the Second Task was like. Put it this way: You're standing on the dock of an Sottich loch- or dake of an Scottish lake -in the middle of February, a time far too cold for much of anything, save for hot chocolate, hot meals and blankets. It was something that would have horrified the Gladers had they heard of what was happening. Which, of course, they hadn't. The Glade existed in the future, not the present, so there was almost no way to exchange words with them.

Kohl had learned that the Scottish called lakes lochs and their docks dakes. It was all terribly confusing. Be it lake or loch, dake or dock, Kohl did not want to go in.

Kohl then wondered who his hostage would be. If Newt weren't participating in the Task, Kohl would guess his older friend. If Aelfdane- or just Dane -wasn't sitting in the audience giving him a thumbs up, Kohl would have guessed his friend. If there was anyone else at Hogwarts whom Kohl didn't mind, Kohl would be willing to guess them, but there wasn't. So who was it? Cho Chang was missing, but that was probably for Newt who had gone with her to the Yule Ball while Kohl had gone with Susan Bones, a Hogwarts student who didn't annoy him as much as the others. Susan was a red-haired girl with blue-violet eyes who had always ignored Kohl's quirks and had been kind to him, even despite the boggarts they had faced during Defense Against the Dark Arts the previous year, Kohl's having become a large, moaning Griever that had almost scared him to death. He knew just as every Glader knew. No one saw a real Griever and lived to tell the tale. Even those stung never saw the Grievers, or at least didn't remember it, and most of them didn't survive either. A few did; Gally, who was quite plausibly insane, Leo, who hadn't spoken since, Riel, who had tried to choke himself. The possibilities weren't good.

It wasn't like they could have gone forward in time to grab the Glader whom Kohl was closest to, was it? Oh, holy BK! That's what they had done, they had taken Ben.

Kohl set his jaw strong and stared into the icy water, preparing himself for the cold. The Glade was a very warm place, Kohl could only imagine what it would to his system without several warming charms. His eyes darkened and he gripped the staff in his hands nervously. In one of his hands was a budle of plant-sprigs, gillyweed which would allow him to breathe and swim under water. Kohl let out a shiver and renewed the warming charms once again. He would be doing that a lot during the whole Task.

Finally, the Task began and Kohl dove in after swallowing his half-chewed gillyweed. His dive was anything but elegant, yet it did the job needed. Kohl had never gone swimming before. He had never been near such deep water before. Even crossing the lake in his first year, Kohl had some how managed to teleport across the lake without anyone noticing. How, he didn't know, but he had still managed it, something that was honestly miraculous.

The water was icy and Kohl renewed the charms once again. It didn't help much, but Kohl continued to swim on as gills appeared on either side of his neck and his hands and feet became fins. It felt marvelous to glide through the water with power and ease.

So forth Kohl swam through the murk of the cold water and through the thick bundles of weed growing from the bottom until Kohl came upon an interesting place. Floating up yet held to the bottom were four forms. Next to him, Newt pulled in a sharp gasp. Cho Chang floated, asleep, next to the fourteen year old shape of a Runner, one with ginger-blond hair floating around his face and dressed in the khaki slacks of a Runner with a simple cotton shirt that's sleeves went down to the boy's forearms. A blue cloth was wrapped around each wrist just like all Gladers did with varying colours from tan to brown to blue. The shank looked tall for his age with brown eyes closed in what would look peaceful if not for the frown that crowned the boy's face.

It was Ben, the second-in-command of the Runners.

Kohl swam closer, investigating the rope before sending investigation to Bark and slamming through the rope with his staff. He glanced over at Newt who had freed Cho with the small knife he had brought along and the exchanged nods. Kicking towards the surface, Kohl began to feel the pain at his gills return, showing that the hour was nearly over. He began to kick harder, the cold reaching in and clawing at his heart. Why the BC did it have to be so cold? Newt was also shivering as their heads broke the surface. Ben began to cough and struggle in the water, floundering around while Cho calmly began to tread water, looking around, confused.

Shivering, the group of four scrambled to get out of the water, being wrapped in fluffy towels as soon as they left the icy water and the chilly wind began to pierce their clothes. Each one was sopping, hair dripping wet and looking absolutely ridiculous in the fluffy towels. Ben crouched shivering on the hard, cold dock, not even bothering to wrap his blanket around himself. Kohl forced himself to stand moving to crouch next to his friend and wrap the towel around his shoulders for him. Ben's teeth were chattering violently and shivers ran up his spine every few seconds. Soon Newt knelt next to his fellow Runners and, seeming to be faring the cold quite well, placed his own fluffy towel around Ben's shoulders. Still, the young Runner didn't reply. A commotion from the water told them that Krum had returned and his hostage, the annoying Hermione Granger, for Delacour had come back earlier, but without her sister.

"B-B-Ben?" Kohl stuttered out through his clattering teeth, reaching out to poke at his friend. Dane had come over and was standing nervously next to Kohl who eventually rested a hand on Ben's shoulder. The boy still didn't reply. Newt shook Ben gently.

"You'l'right, shank? Not looking so good, mate."

Ben didn't reply. If anything, he shrank into himself even further at the sound of Newt's voice. Kohl gripped his friend's shoulder and shook it slightly harder than Newt had. Receiving no response, Kohl began to pet his friends back like he had before when Ben had been badly wounded during a running accident that had left him unable to move one leg for over a month. Because of this long time being unable to do much of anything, Ben had quickly become bored and at least slightly depressed. Kohl had been there for his friend all through the night since he ran all day.

As soft droplets of rain began to fall, the Hogwarts Matron, Madame Poppy Pomfrey, made her way over to the shivering Gladers, grumbling about dangerous Tasks. Pomfrey placed several warming charms over each of them which lessened their shivering greatly. She asked them each how they were feeling before bustling them back to the castle. Ben allowed himself to be guided back to the castle and into the Hospital Wing where all of the champions and hostages were bustled for a night to make sure that they were warm before they were allowed to continue on with their daily life. Kohl and Newt refused to leave their fellow Glader's side, constantly trying to get the boy to speak to them.

"Ben," Newt said finally, voice soft and soothing. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, Ben turned his lightly tanned face and warm brown eyes towards Newt, but was completely unable to meet the older Glader's eyes. Newt reached out and gently gripped the ginger-blonde's chin to force the boy to look up, but he still avoided Newt's gaze, having developed a strange interest in his sopping wet khaki pants. When the Runner did finally allow his gaze to dart up before slipping away again, Newt spoke once more. "What's happened to you? You're not the shank I used to know."

Ben's shoulders shook softly at Newt's words; he didn't seem to want to be anywhere near the two Hogwarts students. Newt then suddenly flinched at the younger boy's pain. "Hey, hey, easy now, Benny-boy." Newt then sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped an arm around Ben's shoulders, steadfast despite Ben's refusal to acknowledge him. Krum was watching the exchange with a curious look glinting in his eyes while Cho looked confused and upset.

Finally, a hoarse whisper escaped from Ben's mouth. "They wouldn't listen. They never listen."

_That_ caught Kohl's attention. "You mean Ni- I mean Alby didn't listen? Or the Council?"

Ben's hoarse whisper sounded again. "Alby. He never listens. I begged him, _begged_ him, not to. They knew, especially Gally, what it was, what I knew. But they still wouldn't listen. He's bad, he's bad, he's bad," Ben whispered over and over again, almost chanting it. Slowly, the words faded into an indiscernible murmur.

"Madame Pomfrey?" Kohl called over to the matron. "May we get Ben a sleeping potion? I'm afraid he's not well today."

The Hogwarts matron bustled over with a small bottle of a sleeping potion and passed it to Kohl, who in turn popped it open, tilted Ben's head back, forced his jaw open, poured the potion into his mouth, before slapping a hand over Ben's mouth and using his other hand to stroke his throat, forcing the young Glader to swallow the foul potion despite his efforts otherwise. It was all done in such a brusque manner that Fleur Delacour had to stifle a laugh. Ben's eyes began to droop before he shook himself back, repeating the process several times before Newt laughed softly, pulling the Runner against him and speaking. Ben's head was burrowed into Newt's chest, showing some of his fear and confusion.

"Relax, shank. You might as well sleep the potion off. It's not going to go away until you've gotten the needed rest." For what felt like hours, Ben struggled exhaustedly against the potion, his eyes drooping and shaking his head in a effort to shake off the exhaustion. Kohl sat next to Ben on his Newt-free side, resting his head against Ben's shoulder in a gesture saying simply "I'm here". Ben flinched away sluggishly before not bothering to try and get away and finally relaxing slightly. Newt rubbed Ben's other shoulder gently as the young Runner drifted from one realm to another. Finally, Ben was asleep. Newt withdrew his arm from around Ben's broad shoulders and Kohl straightened. Ben was lain on the bed, looking peaceful and so unlike the scared boy whom had been seen just minutes before. In sleep, Ben appeared innocent, like a shy teenager who had not a care in the world.

Only then did Kohl allow an immense yawn to escape from him. Newt looked amused and his face gave Kohl his orders. Rest now. Talk later.

So Kohl did.

* * *

Kohl woke the next morning, stiff and sore from the previous day's adventure, but happy and concerned. Ben- his best friend; Newt was his brother -had clearly been through something, but what that something was wasn't known to the small, green-eyed Hufflepuff-Glader-Runner. On the bed next to him, his brother slept peacefully with his form twisted onto his side. On Kohl's other side, Ben lay, awake but glassy-eyed and seemingly in shock. The ginger-blonde's head fell to one side, eyes clearing as they fixed on Kohl.

"Kohl? What- where?"

"Me," Kohl agreed, sounding somewhat unlike himself. "I have no idea, but Hogwarts."

Sunlight poured through the vast, arching windows that filled the walls of the Hospital Wing. Farther down the line of boys was Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker that had caught the snitch in the recent Quidditch World Cup yet had lost the match. The tall, stocky eighteen-year-old's dark brown hair sticking up at strange angles that he would probably never allow anyone to see him as. It was a Friday, but school had been canceled that day because of the immense event that had taken place the day before. The Hospital Wing was divided into two sections, one for boys and another for girls. In-between the two Wings was Madame Pomfrey's office was her office with two doors, one to each Wing, and an immense storeroom where all the potions and other medical-magical-stuff was stored when it wasn't needed.

Newt was stirring not far from the pair of Running-buddies. His grey eyes flickered open sleepily and he lifted his head to look around before allowing it to drop once again. "What time is it?" The seventeen-year-old asked in a display of laziness since he could simply cast a spell and have the time... or just look at his watch

Kohl lazily lifted his head to look at the small, simple and plain black watch that decorated his wrist, finding it to be around ten in the morning. He looked up lazily and bluntly told Newt to check his own watch, to which he refused.

The group drifted into silence as the sun rose around them. Finally, Kohl rose from his bed, sheets falling away from him and stretched luxuriously. "Do you think we're allowed to leave?"

Newt yawned lazily in response. "Best not'a'. Pomfrey'll have a heart attack if she finds you gone. Speaking of her, where is she? And speaking of speaking, Ben what was that yesterday? It was like you were possessed." Newt let out a shudder. He had always been good at dealing with the sick, especially those stung, but he wasn't used to having the friends of the boy whom he had taken under his wing dramatically freak out and act totally un-normal like Ben had the previous day. It was clear something had happened, but of all the stung boys whom Newt had cared for in the long years he had been in the Glade, even if he did spend most of his time at Hogwarts. Newt received information of everything that had happened while he was away and a counterpart created by magical means took his place from his own counterpart, just the same as Kohl had.

Ben shrank into himself as Newt looked over and across Kohl. The ginger-blonde turned away from the other two Gladers and seemed to pretend to sleep. The other two exchanged glances and shrugs. Kohl grabbed his book-bag and pulled from it a book he had snatched from the library a few days previously. It was a book on the possibilities of time travel. Kohl knew that he had traveled through time to get to the Glade and to Hogwarts many times, so he had to know how. The Professors who would apparate Newt and Kohl back and forth from place to place didn't know that it was from different times, they simply thought that the Glade was extremely hard to find.

It was around twelve when Pomfrey bustled her way into the Hospital Wing to wake them all and make sure that they were at logical and warm temperatures before sending them off to spend their day doing something, but what that something was became a matter of their own decision, even if no one could have forced them to do anything in the first place. The two Gladers shook their third brethren awake and bustled him to a quiet courtyard that was practically empty. Soon the group was leaning back against a few nearby trees in a large, empty courtyard each one bundled up in Hufflepuff scarves and hats with warm, puffy down jackets wrapped around their torsos. Soft snow was falling around them and Ben seemed fascinated by the crystalline patterns of each individual snowflake.

Kohl, who had been silent until that point, listening to his friends bicker teasingly, finally spoke. "You have to tell us sometime, Benny. I swear, we just want to help you. Me and Newt need to know what happened so that we can help you. Please, just tell us. We really do need to know, mate, just so that we can help. What happened? Did... _them_ happen? Like-"

"Who's 'them'?" A curious and bright voice asked. Kohl jumped out of his skin. He relaxed when he saw a third year Ravenclaw girl with long, straggly dirty-blond hair and piercing, pale grey eyes.

"No one you want to meet, Lovegood," Newt replied absently, not really paying attention to what was happening around them.

"I came to find you," Luna Lovegood continued, "Cho Chang's not very happy, you know, Cedric Diggory. She thought you would want to spend time with her after the lake yesterday. I suggest you go find her before she comes down here and rips your throat out."

Newt rolled his eyes in response. "Chang doesn't understand that my brethren come above all else. They are my family, not Nasya, Eilleen or Amos. I'd give my life for them, my friends, family and people, just as they would for me. We have an old saying; Once you enter, you are never going to leave."

Luna Lovegood just shrugged. "Do not blame me when she sends crumple-horned snorcacks after you, Cedric Diggory. Ta-ta! Don't let the nargles bite!"

With that the blond girl was off, skipping away through the courtyard in her butterbeer bottle cap necklace and radish earrings. Ben stared after her in confusion. "Who was that?"

Shrugging in response, Newt replied absently. "Luna Lovegood. She's a Ravenclaw girl, sweet, but a wee bit strange if you know what I mean. Now answer Kohl's question or I will hold you in a headlock until you do."

Ben snorted softly. He didn't doubt that Newt would. The tall English lad was strong, had the skill and definitely would if he felt the need. "Two n' a half weeks ago, shanks. _Them_. Ya know, in the Maze." Kohl flinched, remembering a harsh run-in with Grievers just a few months before while he and Newt had been in the Glade. Newt subconsciously rubbed the ankle that he had sprained during one of the daily runs he took in the quidditch pitch. "One of them stung me while I was mapping. Minho brought me back and to 'em shuck Med-jacks, the slint-heads! Regular procedure; Jeff tied me down, Clint did the serum, blah, blah, blah, it's all a blur up till Greenie-Day. Some shank named Thomas. He's about sixteen, dark brown hair, hazel eyes." Ben's eyes turned panicky. "I remember him, from the Changing. The most vivid thing I can remember is being drowned in icy water in a tank. It's glass and there are several people watching. The Greenie, a girl with black hair and blue eyes, then a couple of scientists in lab coats. They just watched, shanks, they were going to let me die when the Greenie said something and the water drained away." Ben let out a pitiful whimper, betraying his fear and trauma at the experience of the Changing. "I couldn't help it, shanks, I attacked him, in the forest by the Dead-heads. Alby intervened, saved the Greenie's skin and he shot me. I should be dead. Clint fixed it with that magic of his and they banished me." As Ben continued, his eyes closed. "I begged them, _begged _them, suffered the indignity of it and they still sent me out. One of your professors brought me here, to your Headmasters office. Enchanted me..." Ben trailed off with his head in his knees and wrapped into a tight ball.

* * *

It took a large amount of pestering, but in the end the Professors decided to allow Ben to remain at Hogwarts since he had nowhere else to go. The Gladers thought he was dead, he was from several hundred years into the future and had nowhere to go. They agreed that Ben could help the gamekeeper Rubeus Hagrid to keep busy through the rest of the year. It made sense. The only world Ben had ever known in his long years in the Glade and he might as well have been there for his entire life. The Glade was a place that you couldn't leave, like the Hogwarts Grounds. The Glade was filled with plants, like the Hogwarts Grounds. The Glade had one main building, like the Hogwarts Grounds. It was simply perfect!

So Ben became a common sight around Hogwarts, the students wondering who he was welcoming him with open arms, save for the Slytherins who were confused as to why there was a muggle in Hogwarts. Ben didn't mind them. He was happy to be around so many new people. The ginger-blonde Runner enjoyed helping Hagrid with the animals, especially the majestic hippogriffs who took to him with delight, all nine of them. The blast-ended skrewts were pleased to have a new, even if unwilling, victim such as Ben. Overall, most were happy with the new arrangements and quizzed Ben about his past and why he was staying at Hogwarts. Each time Ben would give them the quick version. He had been banished from his home and would die if he returned. He was an orphan who didn't know his parents, so they couldn't go to them and he had met Kohl and Newt four years before.

The younger students ate up the story with vivacious appetites while a few of the pureblood Ravenclaws and the Slytherins refusing to even listen to Ben, decided that his story was false, even though it was the truth, just not the whole truth. The best lie was a half-truth as some random person had once said. It all turned out very well, Ben staying in the Hufflepuff dorms since they had the highest number of muggleborns, Kohl and Newt were in Hufflepuff and the House of Badgers was the most accepting of all the houses.

The ginger-blonde Runner was staying in Kohl's dorm. Within that dorm was, of course, Kohl, Ben, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Oliver Rivers, and Aelfdane Holm. Ben soon learned that Aelfdane, or just Dane, wasn't the friendliest boy, but that he was very kind once he accepted you. Oliver was absent-minded and kind, though very cunning. Justin was easy going and polite, though he didn't seem overly fond of Ben or Kohl. Ernie was polite but cool towards Ben, though seemed to be friends with Justin. They were a fairly good group of people overall.

Ben learned the way of the Wizarding World from his two friends who had long since enlisted the help of the Slytherin half-blood Tracy Davis who didn't care for blood purity and had been more than happy to help them understand the world they had been born to yet taken from at such a young age. Ben learned of how both Kohl and Newt had come into the custody of WICKED. Kohl had been left on the steps of a home a few hours from London, a place of which had a name that Ben recognized upon hearing it. It seemed that Kohl had traveled through time when his powerful magic had been concentrated by his fear and confusion, allowing for WICKED to bring him in since Ben was about six hundred years before Ben had even been born. Something similar had happened to Newt, only he had gone to bed one night and not been seen until the Professors had seen the number of letters sent out and investigated, discovering that one letter hadn't been sent back, a letter that had gone out to a place called the Glade where a British boy named Cedric (Newt) Diggory who had never even heard of magic. Newt's sister, Nasya, tried to help but was more of a hindrance in teaching Ben the ways of the magical world than help. She was far too excitable to be of much help.

It was all very foreign to the ginger-blond non-magical runner who had been Banished after being Stung after meeting a shucking Griever. He spent his free time with Kohl and Newt who spent most of their time working on their homework, something that Ben enjoyed helping with research for, the wording of it and checking each essay for grammatical mistakes. Each Glader had a bit of a special skill and one of Ben's totally random and un-useful skills was his ability to use his words. Unless he was still deranged from the Changing; then he was as uneloquent as could possibly be. Mumbling 'he's bad' over and over seemed to do nothing to communicate with the other Gladers.

_That_ was what the Gladers called the Aftermath. It was almost as dangerous as the pre-changing sickness, simply because of the chaos that it created in the mind.

The Aftermath was what it sounded like. The Aftermath of the Changing. It was when a person who had been Stung and gone through the Changing quickly became edgier and lonelier, almost becoming a lone wolf. They were snappish and far more nervous than they normally would be. The Changing was only the time when the person was unconscious and going through the slide show of memories that was the Changing. The Preftermath was the Aftermath of before the Changing. It was the Aftermath, only worse. Violence was always a large part of the Preftermath and even the first parts of the Aftermath.

It was early in March, maybe the fourth of fifth, when Ben first became slightly twitchy. Just a few minutes before, Ben had been smiling and laughing and BK jokes and then, bang, he'd been frowning and jumped when Newt had brushed a hand against his arm.

"Ben," Kohl asked nervously. "Are you alright?" He reached out, grabbing his friends wrist and looking up at his much taller friend's deep brown eyes. Seeing the glint that was slightly off, Kohl let out a nervous "Oh, klunk, it's the Aftermath."

Newt rested an arm around Ben's shoulders, instantly knowing that Kohl was right. At first Ben's shoulders tensed and his eyes flared slightly before he relaxed, allowing Newt to rub one of his shoulders gently to sooth him. Ben leaned into his friend and closed his eyes. It was a cool Friday evening and the Gladers were relaxing near the lake. Kohl had a book on staff fighting open in his lap, the page showing a strange staff capped with what appeared to be a dangerous crescent moon blade which could easily sever a person's arm just as a shark would do to another person. It seemed like a peaceful day, save for the impending chaos that the Aftermath would cause.

"Let's go, mate," Kohl said, yawning lazily and standing, the book tucked beneath his arm. Newt continued to pet Ben's shoulder as they walked, the older Glader supporting Ben's head as his eyes fluttered sleepily. Ben's manner had relaxed, soothing the other Gladers worry for him for just a little longer.

Despite that, they didn't sleep easy that night.

Having no school that Saturday, both Kohl and Newt were stuck close to Ben's side, who tried to shove them away, assuring them that he was going to be fine, though the other two Gladers didn't quite believe it. They had seen the Aftermath. They knew the Aftermath would soon pass, but weren't going to let Ben out of there sight until it peaked and then dropped instantly. That day would come the very next day, Sunday, March sixth, while the group was out near the Forbidden Forest, trying to keep Ben away from the students and Professors when the peak struck.

* * *

Kohl liked to keep out of arguments. He didn't like arguments. He didn't like arguing. He didn't like talking. Bark, Kohl didn't even like most people! However, what he did enjoy was sparring.

The three Gladers were going all out, each using a simple wooden staff with no special abilities, just a rod of wood. It was third blood, a Glade tradition that the first group had started in which each 'blood' was simply each time a person was touched with one of the rods. It focused on the art of agility and control. Each time a blood was too harsh, it was a point taken away from the person who had committed the penalty. It was the only sport of the Glade and that was they way they liked it. They also couldn't really play any other sports; the Creators hadn't bothered with any sort of play equipment, despite the youngest Gladers only being eight or nine, young enough to love regular sports like soccer, even if there wasn't too much time for it. The youngest to ever come in, a seven year old boy named Luth, hadn't been able to get enough of climbing trees in the Deadheads and racing around the walls of the Glades. Luth had passed on after a very bad fall from a very tall tree in the Deadheads. The sweet boy had broken both legs badly and had left that life, despite the Med-jacks of the time, Blair, Kip and Dici's attentive care and spending every moment by Luth's side. A simple soccer ball would have probably saved the small boy's life.

So after that incident, a make shift soccer ball had been made from a cushioned material wrapped tightly to form the soccer ball. The younger Gladers would some times kick it around, but often preferred the usual activities of the Glade, especially the duties of building and gardening, though they would often change from those early duties to duties that fit them better when they were thirteen or fourteen, truly realizing what they were good at and what they weren't.

Staff-fighting was a delicate art, refined and careful. Imagine being one of those actors in Star Wars with the Jedi and their lightsabers, that was like staff-fighting. The only difference was that in staff-fighting, the chances of being badly hurt was much less, probably only bruising, at worst being knocked out, while in Star Wars, people died and lost limbs in duels.

Within just ten minutes, Kohl had received a first blood while Ben had just received his third and Newt also only had one blood. Kohl spun his staff round, circling calmly as he kept an eye on Newt and his staff. Like lightning, Kohl struck, snatching his second blood to Newt. Then, in a flurry of blows exchanged between the two friends, a third blood was taken and Kohl came upon top of the three-way duel.

The two Gladers plopped down next to Ben, one on either side, laughing. Ben wasn't laughing. He had a faint frown creasing his face, though his eyes were panicked and fearful. A twitch ran through Ben's arms, then another. His face twitched. Kohl noticed and stopped laughing and just after he did, Newt stopped as well. Gently, Kohl prodded Ben's arm, receiving a volatile flinch in response. Newt rested a hand on Ben's shoulder, who promptly flinched away, though Newt refused to allow Ben to leave.

"Cover his eyes," Newt ordered Kohl calmly. He had dealt with many sick Gladers and everything that his counterpart did, the real Newt might as well have done as well since he would know about it. It was like having one mind with two bodies. Kohl did as he was ordered, slapping a hand over Ben's eyes just before Ben flinched away trembling back.

Newt wrapped his arm around Ben's shoulders, pulling the fourteen-year-old boy against his side as the Glader struggled, terrified, against him. "Calm down, Benny, it's just us, Newt and Kohl, easy now, it's just the Aftermath." He pet a hand along Ben's arm gently and continued to speak in a soothing tone of voice, begging the strong, young Runner to relax. "It's alright, just fine, mate. Easy now, shank. Bloody stop it." Slowly, Ben began to stop struggling as Newt placed his hand over Ben's eyes, rubbing the boy's temples soothingly. Then Ben fully relaxed against Newt's side and rested his head against the older boy's shoulder. "There," Newt soothed softly and moved his hand from Ben's eyes to ruffle his hair softly. "Better?"

Ben nodded, thoroughly exhausted both from the sparring and the Aftermath. "Thank you," he mumbled softly.

"Whoa there, sleepy. We should get you back to the castle to rest." Ben allowed for his hair to be ruffled once again as he stumbled sleepily to his feet. The other two Gladers guided him back to the castle for a long nap. Newt kept his arm wrapped around Ben's shoulders as he stumbled along, needing the extra support that Newt offered.

They arrived back in the Common Room where Ben crashed on one of the chairs while Kohl curled up by the fireplace with a book and Newt polished his own fighting staff.

* * *

It was there. The Third Task. June 24 was a day that none of the running Gladers had been looking forward to. Kohl stood stilly with his beautiful staff strapped to his back. Newt was next to him, wand on a holster on his wrist, a regular staff strapped to his back. The noise was overwhelming, people cheering and anxious to find out who would win the Tournament. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students cheered for their own Champions, while the Slytherins wanted Krum to win, Gryffindors half between Krum and Newt, Ravenclaws just arguing over which Champion was the smarted and was going to win, mostly agreeing on Delacour, and finally Hufflepuffs not sure to cheer for Newt or Kohl.

That was the thing with such loyalty. When there were two options, you never knew what to do. Ben was firmly trying to convince the Hufflepuffs that they could cheer for both since they would both do amazingly.

The ginger-blond boy had laughed when the two other Gladers had told him of what the Third Task was. A bloody maze. A _changing _maze. Kohl loved the thought of running another maze that was fraught with danger and was different from his normal maze. The only factor that Kohl wasn't looking forward to was the Blast-ended Screwts which had been raised by Hagrid for the entire year and had reached six feet in length, a foot longer than Kohl was tall. The blasted things shot fire into people's faces and that was not what any of the Gladers were hoping for. They were used to big slug creatures that would sting you if they got a chance, so small slug creatures that would blast you with fire weren't going to be too bad.

Kohl could see that Ben was worried about them, very worried. It was almost time for the Task to start when Ben said farewells to them.

"Don't die," he repeated the years old blessing of the Glade, or more accurately the plain statement than none had any control over. "Watch out for slug-things and any other living things. And stick together. And don't get caught by the bushes!"

Newt looked solemnly at Ben. "You _worrywart_," he stated calmly and solemnly.

In response, Ben just said, "Someone has to watch out for you shanks. You know the signs. Better than me, too."

And then the Ben had to leave because the Task was about to start.

Dumbledore did the announcements. "Entering the Maze first will be Mr. Cedric Diggory with a totally of ninety-one points along with Mr. Harry Potter!" A roar went up from the Hufflepuffs and around half the Gryffindors. "On the canon!" The annoying old man roared. The canon sounded and instantly the two Gladers were off and before any of the spectators even knew what was happening.

Kohl's feet pounded steadily along the floor of the new maze, a ground that was made of squashy grass so unlike the hard stone that the two Gladers were accustomed to in most mazes. It made for different running, but from daily runs around the quidditch pitch, no matter what the weather, had gotten him at least somewhat accustomed to the squishier ground that he often came across during his runs. Since he was actually on the quidditch pitch, it really wasn't that different. Of course, it was entirely possible that the pitch had been almost completely destroyed by the changes just as the Changing changed the person who experienced it and its awful aftermath. Newt ran along next Kohl, calm as they continued onwards.

Turn upon turn upon turn after turn after turn after turn, they continued to run. A canon soon sounded. Maybe ten minutes later, the last canon fired. They were all in the maze then. All four Champions were in the maze and things were about to get tense. They turned left once again, sliding around the corner. Run down the long corridor, left, right, right again now left, turn, that passage is closing, left, dead end, go back, take the left and go. Maybe forty-five minutes in. Have to keep going. Kohl's breathing was soft and even as he kept going. Most people would be having trouble continuing, but not the Runners. They ran for hours on end each day. Of course, Kohl's short legs made for more work than Newt had to do, though the older Glader was going at a slightly slower pace to give Kohl an easier time simply because of his much shorter legs. They kept running, maybe twenty more minutes, before something finally happened.

Before them, immense and moaning, was a Griever. Kohl tried to skid to a stop but was unable to as the Griever pounced, multiple appendages glistening. The spikes poking from the slimy skin bristled terribly as Kohl scrambled back on his hands and knees, not even noticing what Newt was doing. The tall blond boy had raised his wand and murmured "Ridikulus!" The Griever instantly transformed into a very annoyed Gally. Both Gladers grinned at Gally's ridiculous face with his strange, arching eyebrows.

They kept running, left, right, left again. Keep going. Back track, choose the middle path, hear a scream. The two froze. "Delacour?!" Kohl shouted into the silence of the maze. Only silence replied to him. "We have to go!"

Newt nodded in a quick agreement and they were off. Ahead of them was a writhing form with long, blond hair and very pale skin, grasped by the roots of the bushes. Red sparks shot up above them coming from Newt's wand. They would have to move on. And so they did. Three turns, ten minutes later, Kohl realized he had been separated from Newt.

"Oh, klunk," he grumbled when he realized before he heard a shout.

"What are you doing?" yelled Newt's voice. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?" Then a primordial, animalistic wail, primitive Glade communication for help, came from Newt. He was in trouble

Then Newt's scream pierced the air like a siren wailing into the cold, dark night.

"Newt!" Kohl shouted, instantly heading for the sound, blasting through a few bushes on the way. A horrific sight greeted him. Newt lay twisting in pain on the ground, his blond hair soaked in sweat and his warm grey eyes wide with panic and pain. Krum had his wand in the air, magic spewing from it and wrapping around Newt. "Stupefy," Kohl ordered form his wand, aiming at Krum. The dark-haired boy fell to the ground unconscious. Slowly, Newt relaxed but he continued to twitch, whether from fear or pain, Kohl couldn't tell. The blond Glader had his arms wrapped around his head as he shook. He didn't look like the cheerful, kind Glader that Kohl knew. Kohl rushed to his side, worry etched onto his features, grabbing at Newt's shoulders. "You a'right? Newt?"

"F-fine, kiddo. Let's go, before he wakes up. And sparks first." Newt's voice was a dark mumble that was scarcely audible. Hastily, Kohl sent up another line of sparks before pulling Newt to his feet as the two friends stumbled off into the darkness and away from the unconscious form of Viktor Krum.

"What happened?" Kohl finally asked as they trod onwards, walking instead of their usual, casual jog.

"Bloody sucking suchfaced slint-head snuck up on me. I 'eard him, turned back 'round and he shouted that curse at me! I can't bloody shucking believe it!" Together they took a plodded down a left turn, hoping they were going in the right direction since they were the only ones left in the maze. It was an all to familiar feeling for Kohl.

They soon hit a dead end after taking a right, but back-tracked and kept going, waiting for something to happen. They back-tracked a couple more times, blasted a skrewt to pieces and continued plodding along. They had been within the maze for at least four hours. Most people would have gone made at the never-ending maze, but both Gladers ran the Maze to try and escape, because there was hope with that. Now they were walking a maze simply because they had nothing better to do and because it was a puzzle and Kohl liked puzzles. It was getting darker and darker, making Kohl ever surer that they were finally getting close; he got edgier. Something had to happen soon. There was a soft hissing noise from ahead of them, causing both Gladers to raise their wands and light the tips up, revealing a creature with the upper body of a woman and lower one of a creature Kohl recognized as a lion from his distant knowledge of the world. It was a sphinx.

Kohl gave a soft howl of 'found something' to inform Ben.

"You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me." The sphinx said in an eerie tone of voice.

"So... so will you move, please?" Newt asked, looking hesitantly at the sphinx. It was pacing back and forth across the path, not allowing either boy to continue forth.

"No. First you must answer my riddle. Only if you answer right on the first guess can you pass. Answer wrong and I will attack. Refuse to answer and I will allow you to go back unscathed."

"Let's here it," Newt said instantly, knowing that any riddle the sphinx through their way they would have a 12 percent chance of answering correctly, especially considering that they had never even been in the outside world.

The sphinx sat down happily in the middle of the path. She purred contentedly and let her riddle rip. "I am the beginning of sorrow, and the end of sickness. You cannot express happiness without me, yet I am in the midst of crosses. I am always in risk, yet never in danger. You may find me in the sun, but I am never out of darkness," the sphinx recited easily, and quickly, too.

"Beginning of sorrow..." Kohl whispered, suddenly thinking of the terrible Box he had awakened in just five years before, not long before he had received his letter. The Box was the beginning of sorrow for all the Gladers. "End of sickness." Well that fit to. It had been a boy named Max, desperately ill from the Griever Venom, before they had received the Serum, who had gone down the Box-hole and been sliced in half, or at least so Kohl had heard, having not witnessed it himself, nor had Newt, just the original group of eighteen-year-old Gladers. "Err, can we have it again? But slower this time?"

The sphinx repeated her riddle and Kohl frowned softly.

"No happiness without?..." Sort of worked, but only sort of. They never would have been happy in the Glade if not for the Box... "Midst of crosses," Kohl said. That one did make perfect sense. The Box was the pathway between two worlds, the Glade and whatever was beneath that. "Always in risk?" Confusion then laced his tone. That didn't fit. The Box was just that, a box, nothing that could feel pain or be at risk, so to speak. Although, that did explain the line "Never in danger." Kohl began to smile and continued to consider. "Always in the sun. Damn." That definitely didn't fit. "Never without darkness. Now _that _fits."

Just then Newt broke out his own guess. "The letter S is our guess."

The sphinx smiled and stepped aside. The two Gladers continued on. Soon they broke into a jog, before sprinting down the long paths, twisting around the corners with an amazing speed. There, glowing in the darkness, was a faint blue light that grew ever stronger as they came closer. Then, as Kohl began to fall behind on his short legs, he looked up and looming above them was an immense, dark shape.

"Newt!" Kohl shouted. "Stop!"

Instantly, Newt obeyed, skidding to a stop but not soon enough. The spider, an immense acromantula, bore down on Newt with a fantastic and terrible ferocity, so similar to what Kohl imagined a Griever would act like.

"Stupefy!" Kohl roared and spat the spell at the immense spider. He launched forwards with an aggressive force, swinging his long staff forwards at the creature. The staff struck the spider's neck, causing it to whip around and bear down on Kohl. He stumbled back a few steps and in an instant found himself letting out a terrified screech as he found his left ankle gripped in the creature's pinchers. Agony seared his mind as another screech escaped his lips. Through the sear of pain, he lifted his wand that was gripped in his hand, yelling a spell. "Expelliarmus!" Aiming at the pinchers of the immense and carnivorous spider. It dropped him when the red light hit it's pinchers. The twelve foot drop was painful to say the least and Kohl fell still against the soft ground before he heard Newt yell a spell.

"Stupefy!" The spider dropped to the ground, stunned. "Kohl!" Newt shouted, rushing to his side. "You'll'right? Did it fall on you?"

"No," Kohl mumbled and panted in response. His ankle was bleeding freely. A thick, milky white secretion leaked from around Kohl's torn khaki pants, something that must have come from the spider's terrible pinchers. Struggling, Kohl stumbled to his feet, crying out when he put the slightest bit of weight. He allowed himself to slump against the wall. Newt came over and slipped under Kohl's arm, supporting some of his weight to allow him to relax at least slightly.

"No," Kohl insisted softly. "Go, you're there. I can't walk, I can't make it, I wouldn't have won a running race in the first place."

Newt, with an arm wrapped around Kohl's shoulders, looked down at him. "You've saved my life before, Kohl. Not just at the jump, but also in here. That spider would have killed me."

The reaction was instantaneous. Kohl growled and looked up at his brethren. "That's not how it's supposed to work!" He snapped in irritation. The ankle beneath him twitched in pain. It hurt like heck. The ache dug deep into his subconscious. A whimper escaped his throat. "I'm not taking it," Kohl grumbled through the pain.

"Then we'll both take it, shank."

Kohl had no argument to that. Newt helped Kohl limp forwards to the dimly glowing cup ahead of them. The steps were small and limping. It was slow progress, walking the ten feet to the cup. Each step dragged on and only caused the ache to become more severe. It took maybe ten minutes to cross ten feet of ground.

"Wait, we need to tell Ben what's happening." In response to his words Kohl, knowing he still had to perfect each of the Glade calls, let out a loud howl with his hands cupped around his mouth. One long, ear-splitting howl. Then two shorter barks. Ben would understand. One final sound, a broken howl of 'ar-ar-aroo' sounded.

"On three. One, two, three." They both grasped the handle and was knocked from his feet before passing out in the swirl of something.

* * *

"Kohl, Kohl, Kohl, Kohl Ko-"

"Shut up you bloody shucky shuck-faced spittin' slint-head!" Kohl snapped in response, irritated and in pain. His eyes snapped open as he looked around at his surroundings. It was a strange place, soft, mushy ground with gravestones, old, crumbing stones with faded carvings, and an ancient, towering mansion above. Sticking out of the soft ground were tiny sprouts of grass, adding a slight bit of colour to the brown and grey scene, along with the thick moss growing over the gravestones. Vines surely as old as the house crept up the walls, reminding Kohl starkly of the long vines winding up the walls of the Glade. It was a fantastic setting, but not one that Kohl could appreciate. Newt knelt over him, a large bundle of gauze in his hands as he carefully handled Kohl's hurt ankle, gently wrapping it to stem the blood flow. Another whimpering groan was torn from Kohl's throat relentlessly.

"Easy there, shuck-face. Chill, 'm just wrapping up yer bloody ankle. Relax, now kiddo." Newt finished wrapping the ankle and tied it off gently. "There. Not so bad, eh?"

Reluctantly, Kohl nodded in response. He lifted his head from the squashy mud and groaned at the sucking noise. "What is that?" He grumbled in annoyance and forced his back from the ground. The same sucking noise followed that and Kohl groaned once again. "I hate mud! It's so squashy and gross and it's _wet_!" He hissed in annoyance. Kohl had never been in mud in the Glade, nor had he fallen during his runs in the wet weather around the lake. Kohl found his glasses, covered in mud-splats, and groaned once again. The small, dark-haired Glader hated being the only Glader to wear glasses. Every magical line save for his was immune to bad vision, not to mention that children from the six hundred years to that future had long since developed an immunity to bad eyesight. It was terrible! With a small bit of magic, he wiped the mud from his glasses. He stumbled to his feet nervously and Newt helped him stand without swaying from side to side in the mud.

Then, he heard it. The sucking of boots in the mud, the soft mumble of voices coming ever closer. One voice was squeaking a high-pitched, a tiny baby's voice if it could speak, which it wasn't supposed to be able to. There was another voice, too. It was scratchy and like the squeak of a mouse, absolutely terrifying. Kohl tensed up.

"Newt, we need to go. _Now_!" Kohl's voice was panicked and slightly scratchy voice.

"What? What is it?" The seventeen-year-old replied, gazing around calmly. "I don't see anything."

Right. Kohl had extraordinarily good ears compared to basically everyone. He'd long since been diagnosed by Med-jacks of a past day that it was from his terrible vision. If the small, dark-haired Runner didn't have glasses on, which he always did, everything, not just things far away, would become a blur of shadows with no colour and no shape, not even the vaguest form of a shape. Because of that deficiency, Kohl's body had adapted to being three fourths blind, giving him sharp hearing. "It's voices. Two voices. A rat and a baby. Can we just go?" Only then did the figures appear from the mist. Or should he say, figure. The figure was, to put it simply, the fattest, shuckiest, most slint-headed shank Kohl had ever seen. It, for Kohl couldn't bring himself to call it a _he_, carried what actually was a baby along in its arms. "Leave," Kohl squeaked in terror. "Now!" But it was too late.

"Kill the spare!" The baby screamed and the rat-man reeled back his wand like a fisherman casting a line.

"Avada keda-"

"Silencio!" Newt shouted, silencing the rat-man, leaving Kohl gaping at his direct problem solving. No rat-man, rat or even human could cast an Unforgivable silently, and even if it was possible, Kohl highly doubted that any rat-man could do any silent magic at all. They simply weren't as awesome as Gladers were. Newt had learned his special ability soon after arriving at Hogwarts, teaching it to Kohl once he arrived. One thing was sure, though. If Newt weren't such a quick thinker, or possibly a seer but probably not, he would have been dead by then.

"Kill him!" The baby screamed again. And with that, all WICKs broke loose. Literally.

Kohl caught sight of a Beetle Blade crawling over one statues face. Looking closer through his once again mud-stained glasses, he read the words, long since carved into the crumbling tombstone. Thomas Riddle. Kohl's blood suddenly ran cold. Voldemort's name had been Tom Marvolo Riddle. They were in his home turf then.

"Ahh, Bark!" Kohl grumbled in a mixture of fear, pain, confusion and annoyance. Then something else occurred to him. The Greenie, the one that Ben had attacked, had been named Thomas. None of it spelled well for anyone.

Nervously and hesitantly, Kohl pulled his staff from his back. To keep silencio-ing an enemy wouldn't be playing fair. The Glade had three rules, three main rules, that is. Do your part, never harm another Glader and never leave the Glade. What wasn't remembered was a rule only used in their sparring. Play it fair. It was another thing with the whole idea of having to trust one's brethren, which wasn't hard after just a month or two. The spell was wearing off and the rat-man, who Kohl could recognize as Peter Pettigrew from the end-of-year adventure the previous year when he and Newt and Dane had ended up chasing Sirius Black, who was Kohl's grandfather whom Kohl refused to acknowledge, saving him and a hippogriff named Buckbeak (or Beaky) and tried to kill a rat who was actually a human, not to mention meeting a werewolf professor and almost being killed by dementors.

Kohl gripped his staff so that it was a horizontal staff across his vision. The dark, polished wood felt comfortable in his hands as it hummed with the magic that it possessed. Anything had the potential to become magical, if only it were to be infused with a magical item such as a phoenix feather or dragon heartstring. The first spell fired from Pettigrew's wand.

"Incarcerous!" And like the child he was, Kohl had been unprepared, Newt only speaking his own spell several moments after they were both splattered against gravestones and bound to them tightly. It came out as a faint whimper.

"Bark," Kohl mumbled in annoyance and fear.

"Begin the ritual!" The baby screeched terribly, the voice filling Kohl with an ever-growing fear. In the cold, mucky dark a fire lit, some how burning despite the cold and wet chill that came over the graveyard. Upon the fire was something that Kohl really didn't want to see just then, a cauldron. Cauldrons reminded him of Potions class, which reminded him of Severus Snape, which in turn reminded him of Nick, the former leader of the Glade who had been killed by a particularly ravenous Beetle Blade at the beginning of the year. The memory of finding Nick's dismembered body was still fresh in his mind. His left arm had been torn from his body and lay, half eaten, a few feet away. He shivered at the thought of his deceased brethren. The green-eyed, black-haired Hufflepuff Runner Glader always hated to think about his dead friends.

"Yes, Master," Rat-man replied as water in the cauldron began to boil. He pulled a knife out of somewhere and dumped the baby into the cauldron of boiling water.

"Oh my Bark!" Kohl said in amazement. "I hope he drowns." As soon as Kohl had said such an amazing thing, the Rat-man was upon him. Kohl felt a hand slamming down over his eyes and pressing down painfully at his temples. Despite the pain, both from his head and ankle, Kohl refused to cry out or show any indication of pain.

"Do not speak against my master!" The superiority-complex ridden Rat-man hissed at him. Kohl turned his head away spitefully, letting out an annoyed growl. He could feel Newt's eyes burning into the side of his head, silently begging for Kohl to cooperate. The knife his the rats hand was trembling. "Well?!" He demanded when Kohl refused to acknowledge him.

Kohl rolled his eyes in response. "Yes, Rat-man." He was rewarded by the pain in his head disappearing and the hand leaving his face. The one part of his face that continued to ache was his old, lightning shaped scar, the one that marked him as Harry Potter, not just Kohl. The old scar burned agonizingly against his forehead, piercing deep into his skull and sending a reverberating ache through him. It was like someone was driving a spear into his skull, slowly and painfully, yet much more powerful than any man could use a spear. It had hurt like that once before, when he first arrived in the Glade. He hadn't even been conscious when he'd been in the Box, not until the light had woken him from his pain-filled and disoriented rest. Tiny Kohl had been almost too weak to stand. If not for the leader of the time, Bo, Kohl doubted he ever would have gotten out of the Box. When he was out of it, he'd simply passed out again, leaving all the Gladers confused.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly taken," the Rat-man chanted as he magically lifted a bone from the grave that Kohl was pressed against. The bone dropped into the cauldron. He then gripped the knife and raised it above his wrist. "F-f-fle-esh of the servant, wi-will-lingly given!" He squeaked and ceremoniously forced the knife down, cutting deep through his own skin, chopping away his own hand. Kohl flinched at the sight of blood running down the Rat-man's arm and the splash of the flesh dropping into the cauldron. Kohl's lip curled in disgust. Then the Rat-man was over Kohl himself, brandishing the knife and grabbing, freeing it too, his arm, holding the knife against it. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"

"Oh? That's all you need? Then take some." Kohl forced his body to relax and set his mind. _I give you my blood, Peter Pettigrew_, Kohl thought calmly.

The man cut Kohl's arm, collecting blood into a small vile, then he poured it into the cauldron. From his standpoint, Kohl could see the water turn red, bubbling. Then, the cauldron began to burn away, the water evaporating and leaving a form behind. The form was small, only the size of Luth, the seven year old Glader, had been which was quite small. It had no hair, nose, eyes of ears, just a too-wide mouth that stretched from one side of the face to the other. It had stretched out, milky white skin, pressed close to the bone, showing every joint in the entire body. It's ribs were showing clearly through the skin. Kohl's lip curled in disgust.

"Wormtail!" The creature screeched in anger. "Fix this!"

As the temperamental should-be Dark Lord screamed bloody murder at his servant, Kohl began to work his way out of the tight ropes that bound him to the tombstone. With his one free arm, it wasn't hard to pull a knife from thin air and free his other arm. Following that was the simple task of cutting away the rest of his ropes. Almost like a cartoon character, Kohl slipped free silently, placing a muffling charm on his shoes and exaggeratedly sneaking over to Newt and cutting him free, all while the completely incompetent and child-like Dark Lord continued to scream at his displeasure at his servant. Together on silent feet, they tiptoed away from the terrified Rat-man and the Dark Lord. They reached the glowing cup and on the quiet count of three, grabbed it just as the Dark Lord screamed:

"You let them get away?!" At his servant.

Kohl passed out from the agony of his ankle which had been dulled by the adrenaline but had since returned to it's terrible ache.

* * *

The black-haired boy drifted softly upon a swollen river of dreams.

Bright blue eyes stared down at him from above as he trembled, scarcely conscious, in the pit.

Warm grey eyes, flecked with brown, watched him as he stared in wonder.

A scuttling creature dashed before his face.

The great doors opened and he took off running.

"You'd kill me, too," he said and received a hair-ruffle in response.

The dark furred dog watched him with warm eyes.

He ran along a long wall.

Each vision flashed before his eyes in just a second, showing much that he could remember of the Glade, right from the day he arrived there until that very same day. His heat pounded in a chaotic beat, pumping blood through his body at a vivacious pace. Panic welled up inside of Kohl, filling his body like water could fill his lungs.

His eyes flickered beneath closed lids. Kohl found his small body being tied up. Cold, metal links curled up his left arm snaking up his arm as Kohl's groggy mind tried to process what was happening. The links wrapped loosely around his neck before snaking down the other arm and wrapping up around his torso several times before wrapping twice around his neck and tying off. Similarly, Kohl soon found his ankles bound together with his knees being pressed to his chest. The chains tied off as the grogginess slowly disappeared. Five minutes later, he blinked open his brilliant green eyes, raising his head to look around. Newt had been wrapped up in a similar fashion, his head lolled onto his shoulder. The blond boy leaned against the smooth, white wall that closed in one them tightly from every side. Breath caught in Kohl's throat as he gazed around. Claustrophobia pressed in on all sides, causing Kohl's breathing to become steadily more irregular. The room had no seen door, no windows, only cold, enclosed space.

Voice trembling, Kohl spoke. "Newt?" He asked, voice high pitched with panic. "Newt, please wake up!" Voice trembling with the unnatural pitch, Kohl squirmed against the tight chains that dug painfully into his soft, deathly pale skin. The only response that he received from the unconscious Glader was a soft murmur and Newt's head lolling to his other shoulder. "Newt!" Kohl shouted in irritation, glaring mental daggers at the taller, older boy. "Wake up! Please, please just wake up!" His voice was panicked now, pitched at a level that had only been reached once before, when Kohl came up in the Box. "Please," his voice dropped to a soft whimper. "Wake up, Newt."

Very unlike the magic that Kohl had hoped for, Newt just kept sleeping. His vision swam like a fish through water, every colour watered down and distorted. Everything was tinged with black, shadows extended and the white walls a pale grey. The world went black.

* * *

Worry had never been a foreign thing to Ben. He had been worried when he saw Thatch, the former, former leader of the Glade looking down at him from the edge of the Box, dark blue eyes filled with concern for the new Glader. He had been worried on his first day running, Minho being his trainer while Kohl was being trained by Newt. He had been worried when Kohl and Newt had been late one day. He had been worried many times, too many times for a fourteen-year-old boy and each time more serious than most could imagine, but this worry was not quite like any of those. And it wasn't just worry, it was also fear and helplessness. Worry for his friends, fear for their safety and helplessness since he couldn't help them himself.

The first time he heard an indication of trouble was the ear-splitting, primordial shriek, Newt's shriek, cut through the air like a knife through soft butter. Halfway through the warning of danger was nothing but screams, no hidden meaning, no deep idea. It was just screams, as though he were being torn apart. Abruptly, the screams cut off.

Silence reigned once again as brilliant red sparks shot up once again. Ben knew that if one of the Gladers were in trouble, they would call to him in a true Glader style.

It was over an hour later when there was a low, curious barking howl that sounded like Kohl.

"Why are they howling?" Someone asked. "There's nothing that howls in there, right?"

Ben just smiled very faintly at that. It was definitely not a howling beast. The Gladers used primordial ways to communicate simply because those sounds travelled farther than regular speech could. It was highly effective and over the years they had developed a immense vocabulary of long, short, soft and loud screeches, even combinations of all of those, that all the Runners memorized to be able to communicate. That was why a Runner was initiated for so long; that was simply how long it took to learn the language of running. That only began after about a year of being a Runner initiate. It generally took four years to learn 'em all, Newt and Minho being the judges of when an Initiate was ready to become a full Runner. Another rule of the trade was to always stay in groups of two. It was safer that way. You had someone watching your back. It was normally a more advanced Runner with a less advanced one. Just the rules of the trade; rules that could save lives.

Silence once again. A long hour passed before the next form of contact. A long and ear-splitting howl erupted from the centre of the maze.

_Found,_ Ben's mind translated and a grin lit up his face. Finally, they would be back soon. A short, harsh bark followed the first call. _Soon,_ was the barked out message. Another harsh bark, slightly longer that time. _Glade_. A few seconds passed before a final message was given. Kohl let out a wail like the coyotes that lived in the forest, the broken down sound that translated simply as _Med-jacks ready for return_. Ben flinched. One of them was hurt and from the softer notes of pain, it seemed likely that it was bad, like the time that Max had given a similar call, stumbling back from being stung, collapsing just within the doors as they slammed shut.

All he could do was wait.

"What's happened?" Someone cried out. "Where are they? And why are they howling."

Ben sighed an enlightened the school. "That was Kohl. He's howling as a type of messaging. It's primordial and feels ancient, but it works very well. Mazes are pretty much the essence of life back home. Everything we do revolves around _the _Maze. I've spent my life running for the Maze. Kohl and Newt did the same. Our maze is at least ten times the size of this thing, though so we needed a way to communicate over long distances. And on top of that, he's howling 'cause Newt told 'im to. And out of practice. Aside from shouts not carrying far, they attract dangerous, non-human, deadly, annoying, WICKED and CRUEL** creatures. Shout and you'll come home dead. Howls are much less conspicuous."

"What's happened?" Another person screamed. "When will they be back? What did he say?"

Rolling his eyes, Ben replied. "Well, the shank didn't say anything, 'cause, in case you didn't notice, he howled. Those howls translated to something along the lines of 'We'll soon return with something. Have medical supplies ready', or something like that. There are no direct translations. You have to string together the individual ideas to create the message. In this case, one of them is hurt, hence the medical supplies, but they've found the cup and will be back soon."

"How do you know all that?" One shank cried out.

Groaning at the very thought, Ben didn't reply. It took years to learn the series of howls and barks, short and long, harsh and soft, to be able to even string anything together. Ben had practiced for many long years to reach his level of skill in the howls and barks. So instead of thinking about it, Ben waited. And waited. And waited. The waiting went on for an eternity, someone whispered.

"Where are they?"

There was no response. Everyone was at the edge of their seats, waiting for them to return. Twenty minutes later, he was still waiting. Then, another twenty later, he was still waiting. Twenty after that, Ben was getting very worried.

* * *

Kohl cried in the dark, head pressed against his knees in a show of fear. The walls were closing in on him, getting ever closer, so, so quickly. The room was closed and claustrophobic, pressing Kohl farther into his dark, silent, _small_ haven that was his mind. With his arms pressed firmly to his side, Kohl couldn't wipe the crystalline tears from his eyes or try to sooth his racing heart. Not many people knew it, just Thatch, who had disappeared, Newt, who would never tell, and Dici, who had also disappeared. Nick had suspected before his untimely death to a Beetle Blade (of all things) and Alby, who was dead based on the memories that Kohl had been receiving from his other, had never had a clue. Not even Ben, his closest friend other than Newt, knew about his fear. Claustrophobia wasn't common among the couple hundred boys who had passed through the Glade, but it was uncommon in a Runner who ran the closed-in space of the Maze daily. It wasn't the Maze that Kohl feared, it was having walls close to him on all sides. In the Box, that terrible, dreaded Box, he'd hardly been able to breathe through his claustrophobia and scar-ache. It was a terrible feeling, the mixture of having walls pressing in against him on all sides and the burning ache from a scar that he knew nothing about.

So as Kohl continued to whimper and sob in the dark, his eyes not adjusting nor his mind clearing of fear. It went on for an eternity before there was a soft pounding from where Kohl presumed the door to be. It opened outwards, light shining in and illuminating Kohl's small body, curled up by force in one corner.

"Oh my Bark," a rough, warm voice whispered. "Oh Bark, what have they done?" Soft foot steps tread into the room, kneeling next to Kohl and placing a warm hand on his head, petting his hair lightly. "Easy there, now, shank. Let's get you and your friend out of here." The person pet Kohl's hair a final time before he felt the warm hands tugging gently at the chains, trying to find the point where they had been tied off. In a slow process they pulled the smooth, cold chains away from Kohl's trembling form, placing them down on the floor gently. "There," they soothed lightly, having just finished the chains wrapped harshly around Kohl's ankles, and worse, had been digging painfully into his bad ankle. "That's better, eh?" Kohl didn't reply, head still buried into his knees and sobs shaking his thin shoulders. "Hey," the person, who sounded suspiciously like a should-be-dead Glader, said softly. "It's alright. But I can't get you out of here unless you can help me. Come on, head up. Let's get those chains off you." Reluctantly and more than slightly suspiciously, Kohl lifted his head and stretched his legs out in front of him, heart pounded when he felt the wall at the end of his feet.

Before him knelt a Glader whom Kohl hadn't seen in a very long time.

The soft brown eyes of a Glader who had long since gone missing watched Kohl gently, one hand hovering over his shoulder. "Th-Th-Thatch?!" Kohl blurted out in amazement. "You're shucking alive!? Oh Bark, this is just a dream, all a dream, please be a dream." The small, though not nearly as small as Kohl, black-haired Glader rested his warm hand on Kohl's shoulder, as though offering 'assurance' that he was very real indeed. "Dream, dream, dream, it's a dream, can't be real, can't be real..."

"I'm not a dream, Kohl. I'm alive. How've you been, little dude? You sound like a Griever-stung maniac, shank." Thatch replied as he continued to free Kohl of the wretched chains that restrained him.

"Good, mostly, I guess. I dunno. Things 've turned down this year," Kohl replied glumly, relaxing as the last of the chains fell away from his small body and he was able to stand, allowing for Thatch to wrap him in a bearhug, ruffling his hair warmly. "Stupid school, stupid Tournament and stupid rules." He sighed softly, explaining what had happened over the past school year. He choked up when he spoke of Ben being chained to the bottom of the lake. Thatch looked cold and angry at that, eyes darkening intimidatingly.

Thatch leaned back, ruffling Kohl's hair once again, much to the smaller Gladers irritation. "Well let's get you out of this crampled cupboard. I'll get some of the boys to help grab Newt, the heavy shank. We have to find this magic cup of yours and get you back to that shuck school. Then I can come in and shout at Dumbledore. That sounds like a shuck-load of fun." Against Kohl's will, the broad-shouldered, stubby Glader lifted him off the ground, slinging the much smaller boy over his shoulder and carrying him away from the cupboard that Kohl dreaded desperately. Outside of it was what seemed to be simply nothing but open space, something that irked Kohl beyond believability considering he had just been trapped in a cupboard for Bark knows how long. There was the sound of a barking dog from somewhere near by. Scratch that. Not even Bark the almighty black labrador retriever knew.

In the open emptiness of the large exspanse, Thatch cupped his hands over his mouth- dropping Kohl (whoops) -and his primordial howl sounded over the plain-like expanse. One long howl, followed by a short one, then the 'ar-ar-aroo'. Kohl's mind translated it absently.

Come here and bring help for a shank, was the basic idea of the sentence, only it had come in something more like: Help, come, shank, Med-jacks ready for return.

"Sorry shank," Thatch appologized as Kohl scrambled uncertainly to his feet, spotting a glowing blue cup in the grass not far away.

"There, that's it. Don't touch it yet, though, wait for Newt. And what's happening back home in the Glade?"

"We'll talk about that later, but you won't like it."

Out of the mist that had settled over the large area, boys were emerging, all of them Thatch's age or older, only a few looking slightly younger, looking concerned. "Thatch," the first greeted. "What is it?"

And a crazy grin spread over Thatch's features. "Kohlly here was locked up in the Cupboard and Newty's still in there. They appeared via the glowing blue cup which you shouldn't touch unless you want to end up 600 years in the past. We need to get Kohlly's ankle fixed up 'cause it looks like it hurts like holy Bark and we also need to get those chains off Newt and he's still unconscious. Then we need to wake Newty-poos up and I'll head back with those shanks and scream at the headmaster of their school. It sounds like fun, but we've got work to do."

Only a few minutes later was Newt lying, stull unconscious, on the grass, free of chains and breathing normally. Dici, one of the former Med-jacks, had unbandaged Kohl's ankle, the bandages having been sloppy, and was cleaning the wound out with a glass of water. It was only then did Kohl realize that his wound was deep. He could seen his own bone once Dici had begun to clean the wound, frowning in concentration. "I don't know what you did, Kohl, but this wound is shuck deep! This could easily take months to heal! It could be badly infected! You'll be on crutches for at least three months, probably the heck of a lot longer, and even after that you won't be able to run or anything for ages!"

Kohl flinched at the very thought. Not being able to run was the worst thing in the world. To a small boy who had always had older, taller Gladers keeping an eye on him, his running was his freedom since he was one of the quickest sprinters in the Glade. Not only that, he hated being confined to within the walls of the Glade. It may not have been as bad as the Slammer, but he still felt to enclosed to be able to do anything well. "Hey Dici? Can you tell me what's going on back home?"

Dici sighed as he continued to clean out the wound. Kohl flinched very often. "I can't tell you for sure, but shanks have stopped disappearing. We haven't gotten a newbie in five months when we should have gotten one. Even if we only get a shank every two months, this is ridiculous. The day there was supposed to be a new Greenie, we checked all the Cubbies, that's what you were in, and we found a note. _There will be no more. Ever._ Which seems to have been proven wrong as you shanks are now here, but not on a Greenie day. It's not even supplies day. You shanks are lucky that Thatch found you."

"What could have happened to them?"

"I dunno, Kohl, but I bet we'll find out soon. Now let me work on your ankle!"

Reluctantly, Kohl did. An hour later it had been bandaged once again and Newt sat next to Kohl as they discussed plans with Thatch while the other former Gladers had wandered off, chattering about this, that or the other thing. It was an hour and a half after Kohl had spoken with Dici that they made their slow way to the cup. One of the former builders had tossed Kohl a single crutch that would help him support himself. It certainly made for walking much easier than it would be without such a tool.

"On three," Thatch ordered. Their hands hovered over a handle each of the cup. "Three, two, one."

And they were off.

Kohl's leg crumpled under him again, almost causing him to black out from the pain. He stumbled forwards, falling face-first into the grass before stumbling to his feet clumsily, leaning very heavily on the single crutch he had. All around him the quidditch stands were empty, save for a few seats that were full. In one sat Professor Sprout, wringing her hands together with worry, Professor Dumblemore sitting next to her on one side and Ben in the seat in front of her, his brown eyes watching nervously. Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang, sat far away from the Hogwarts people with Maxime not far from him. Upon seeing the flash of light and sudden appearance of the figures, they all stood immediately. Ben rushed towards them with a grin on his face.

"Kohl! Newt! You're back! Wha- Oh, hi Thatch." Needless to say, that was not what Kohl had been expecting. He had expected being ferociously scolding for worrying the ginger-blond boy, followed by somewhat crazy shouts about how Thatch was with them. "What happened?"

Newt explained sleepily, exhausted from the nights endeavors. He spent all of two minutes explaining.

Thatch, who was frowning sternly, spoke suddenly. "Who's in charge? I want to speak to them."

The bearded Hogwarts Headmaster stepped forward. "That would be me. Might I ask who you are? I certainly haven't seen you before. My name is Albus Dumbledore and I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wel-"

"Cut the pleasantries, old man. I'm Thatch and I'm here because Kohl here has bone showing from his ankle. When my council agreed to allow Kohl and Newt to come to school here, it was on the pretenses that they would be safer here than back home. Never, not once, has a Glader had this sort of injury from running a Maze. Not once. So tell me how this happened? I guarantee that the maze these shanks run is five times more dangerous than your shucking thing! Do you know what kind of chaos this is causing! Dici's practically gone into shock from this! Worst wounds he's seen since Luth broke his legs! And that's saying something since Winston chopped of a finger a few years back! Tell me, _Headmaster_, how did this happen?"

One nights rest, two jars of flesh-regenerating paste and three arguments later, it had been decided. Dumblemore had decided to expel Newt and Kohl from Hogwarts since they 'refused to follow the ethnic code of Hogwarts', despite the fact that Hogwarts had no such code and Dumblemore simply never wanted to set eyes on a Glader ever again in his life. It was a absolutely terrible excuse but the one Professor who quite liked the two students, Sprout, could do nothing to keep them from being expelled. She did do her best to help them, agreeing that she and Professor Flitwick, the Charms Professor, would apparate them all, Thatch and Ben included, back to where they had come from. Thatch would be returning to the mist-filled land with the other disappeared Gladers while Ben, Newt and Kohl would all go to wherever Minho the Runner was.

The Professors were able to pinpoint Minho and drop the three Gladers off not far from his location, giving each a farewell before returning to Hogwarts. An hour of walking later, they were standing before Minho, or more accurately, Newt was standing before Minho, Ben hiding behind him and Kohl blinking up at him owlishly.

"How in bloody hell are you shanks alive!" Minho screamed and from all through the small city people, Gladers and girls alike, began to emerge.

Newt laughed. "Good to see you too, shank."


End file.
